The Holby City Short Story Project
by Tobiiiaaas
Summary: A collection of short stories focussing on characters from Holby City's past and present. 1. Where There's Hope...
1. Where There's Hope

**Where There****'****s Hope****…**

And this was, after all, just another day. Elliot Hope frowned as he tried to focus on the iPad that had been thrust under his nose. He didn't much care for technology; why couldn't people just read the books? Books were clearer to him and he missed the feel of the paper between his fingers as he turned the page. Elliot looked up at the F2 holding the iPad and forced his lips into a faint smile.

"What was it you wanted to show me Jenkins?" Elliot asked. Jenkins took a deep breath and swallowed awkwardly. He didn't want Professor Hope to see that he was shaking on the inside just to be in the presence of the eminent surgeon. He knew Elliot was staring at him but he couldn't find the right words to say. "Is there something I can help you with?" Jenkins screwed up his eyes and opened his mouth but still there were no words. He could only muster a tiny squeak and immediately kicked himself for allowing such a ridiculous noise to be made in Elliot's presence.

"I just wanted you to have a look at Mr. Carpenter's x-ray," Jenkins said at last. He watched as Elliot's gaze drifted back down to the iPad and a look of concentration appeared, etched across his face.

"Hmm," said Elliot.

"What do you think I should do?" Jenkins asked, holding the iPad down beside his thigh. Elliot rubbed his eyes and blinked.

"I'm going to organise an ECG," Elliot informed him. "And we'll take it from there." Jenkins nodded and turned to leave. "But I'm not liking the look of Mr. Carpenter's coronary arteries. He's at genuine risk of an MI. I'll be along in a minute." Jenkins nodded again and quickly left Elliot's office, leaving the Consultant alone with his thoughts.

Elliot sat back in his chair and looked over at Jac Naylor's desk; everything was neat, tidy and ordered but Jac was still on leave and the pressure of covering her theatre lists was beginning to get to him. He didn't mind of course and before Jac had left, they'd both assumed that the Board would hire a locum in the meantime. That would have been the sensible option but then Elliot remembered the Board meeting and the casual manner in which the phrase 'cost-cutting' had been thrown around the room. Elliot often found himself wondering whether any of those management suits had any idea of how a hospital actually ran. There were no cost-cutting measures when it came to saving a person's life or the life of one of their friends or relatives. Elliot looked at the time on his phone and stood up quickly. A spasm of pain struck his chest and for a moment the surgeon felt winded. Yet the pain quickly passed and after it did not seem to show any sign of coming back, Elliot left his office.

"The ECG shows a rather erratic heartbeat," Elliot informed Mr. Carpenter. Mr. Carpenter coughed, his face was white with fear and his lips grew thin. "I want to run a blood test before I-"

"Before you what?" Mr. Carpenter interrupted. "Am I having a heart attack?"

"I want to see what the blood test shows up before I make my diagnosis," said Elliot and he smiled, hoping to reassure the patient that everything would be okay without actually having to say it. "In the meantime, I'm sure that Dr. Jenkins here will be more than happy to keep an eye on you." Elliot had already started to walk away from Mr. Carpenter's bed when the short man called out to him again.

"What about you?"

"I'll be along to check on you later," Elliot told him.

"But this one's barely out of bloody nappies," Mr. Carpenter protested. "I mean no offence," he said in an aside to Jenkins.

"Dr. Jenkins is more than capable," Elliot explained.

"I'm sorry Professor Hope but I was assured that you'd be my surgeon today not some junior wannabe," Mr. Carpenter was pleading with Elliot to stay but Elliot had a mountain of other patients to see and, in any case, until the blood test results came back, there wasn't a great deal else he could do. Elliot attempted to explain this to Mr. Carpenter but nothing seemed to convince him and extreme exhaustion was wearing Elliot's patience thin.

"Look Mr. Carpenter, I have a lot on my plate today without patients making demands left right and centre. I will be back when I've got your blood test results. Now do you think you could just sit quietly and not give Dr. Jenkins here any trouble unless it relates to your condition?" Mr. Carpenter scratched his head, evidently trying to compose a suitable reply in his mind.

"Sorry Professor Hope, I know you're busy and all that but I err, I shouldn't have said anything. Thank you."

"That's not a problem," Elliot smiled again and it turned to one of quiet relief as he finally made his way to the next patient on his list.

Elliot caught his breath as he reached the top of the stairs. He knew he wasn't the fittest man in the hospital but it surprised him how out of breath he had felt climbing back up to Darwin. The pain in his chest had returned and he had what seemed like the beginnings of a throbbing headache bubbling away inside his head. Elliot supposed it was a result of covering for Jac but deep down he knew there was something wrong. The uncomfortable tightness in his chest intensified as he forced himself to open the door and step back onto the ward. Screwing up his eyes to bare the pain, Elliot decided it would be best to ignore it and get on with his duties. He stared across the ward and his eyes fell upon Mr. Carpenter, hollering at him.

"Professor Hope!" Mr. Carpenter was paler than before and there were telltale signs of fresh vomit around the corners of his mouth. "Have you got my results?" He asked, lowering his voice to a whisper as Elliot stood over him. Elliot nodded gravely.

"I'm afraid it's not good news," The energy seemed to leave Mr. Carpenter's eyes as he stared up at Elliot. It was this moment that always got to Elliot; the moment where he held a patient's future in his hands and wielded the power to decide the next course of their life. Mr. Carpenter clenched his fist and then unclenched it as he tried to keep his expressions as stoic as he could.

"What's the verdict then eh Professor Hope?" Mr. Carpenter asked but even his stoicism could do nothing to keep the shakiness out of his voice. "Do I need to sort out my will?"

"You have what we would term severe cardiovascular disease," Elliot began slowly.

"And what the heck's that when it's at home?"

"In laymen terms, heart disease," explained Elliot and studied Mr. Carpenter's reaction carefully. "I take it you're not surprised?"

"My whole family's got a history of heart disease and that. It seemed the logical explanation for them pains I've been feeling." Elliot arched his eyebrows.

"What sort of diet do you have?" Mr. Carpenter looked down at his bulging stomach and for the first time a slight smile seemed to appear on his face.

"It's not great Professor Hope," Mr. Carpenter began. "I mean it's tasty but that's about it if you know what I'm saying."

"Mr. Carpenter, you really ought to take better care of yourself, you're at major risk of a -" Elliot stopped suddenly mid-sentence as another pain shot across his chest, more severe than before and he felt a wave of nausea.

"I know, I know but I can't help it. I tried having a diet once y'know, to get the old bodyweight down a bit but nothing worked and after about a year I just figured, sod it. Everyone in my family's overweight, I think it must be our genes or something." Elliot understood where he was coming from and he wanted to do everything he could to help him but there was no point if he refused to help himself.

"You need to make some serious changes to your lifestyle," Elliot said forcibly but Mr. Carpenter was too gripped by fear to listen to him.

"I know what I need to do and I'm telling you it's not that easy. You're not exactly a perfect role model yourself," replied Mr. Carpenter irritably as he pointed at Elliot's own large stomach.

"We all have our vices," Elliot told him. "And I'm not the patient here." He held his breath as another spasm of pain ran through his chest.

"Maybe not today but tomorrow-"

"Then I shall worry about tomorrow."

"Look am I going to have have surgery or…what's the matter?" The colour had drained from Elliot's face and he was clutching at his chest. Tiny droplets of what seemed to be blood appeared in the corner of his mouth.

"I'm fine, I'm just a bit-" But before Elliot could explain what he was the renowned surgeon had collapsed to the floor and he vomited a great deal of blood. Mr. Carpenter watched in horror as Elliot convulsed and the only thing he could think to do was scream.

**TO BE CONTINUED **


	2. A Letter To Eric

Dear Eric,

You may be wondering why I have chosen to write to you so long after we last said our goodbyes. The time has come for me to break the silence that has fallen between us. No, don't say anything Eric: I know you want but you must believe me when I tell you: there is no point. I have to say what needs to be said and, Eric, you must listen carefully.

First I suppose I should tell you that I am alive and living well and that the intervening years have, you could say, been kind to me. Kinder than perhaps I was first destined for. I've lost weight and have been eating well. Well, as well as I always did but I suppose Jocelyn's vigorous exercise regime has paid off. I hope you've been taking care of yourself Eric; Jess told me about the cancer - I wish you had called but maybe there was still too much silence between us. Too much left unsaid. I'm glad you made it through, a world without Eric Griffin in it would have been a much darker sight. But let us not dwell on the illnesses of the past. Life is, after all, about moving forwards and never staying still for longer than we can help it. Which brings me on to the second reason for this letter.

Jess tells me that you're still toiling away at that hospital. I had wondered if perhaps, like me, you had decided to move on to pastures new. I guess you're happy to stay there but please tell me Eric - are you happy inside? The outside is just a shell and it is what's on the inside that counts. If you're not happy inside, then you cannot be happy outside. How long has it been Eric? 12 years? 13? More than enough service to one place if you cared to ask my opinion. But my opinion does not matter, the choices you make must be ones that come from within. It's not easy to move on to a new chapter - I know that and I'm not asking you to. I just want what's best for you Eric - you've always known that.

I would have preferred to tell you this in person but since I don't know if or when I might ever see you again, this letter will have to suffice. There is no easy way to say this even though you are possibly the expert in this area. I mean no offence of course - you have always been a romantic at heart even though it is sometimes the money that gets the most of it. Anyway I fear I am diverging wildly off track here. I have married again to a lovely man - he's not a surgeon but a retired architect - I don't want you to think that I am trying to compensate in any way for what we had between us. That is not my intention. His name is Daniel and he has no children from his previous marriage. I will not deny - I was relieved when he told me that. At my age, I don't think I have the energy to be step-mother to any more men's children. I wanted you to meet him Eric - you once saved his life back in Holby or so he tells me. He doubts that you would remember him - it was such a long time ago.

Have you found love again Eric? After so many misses, I would not be surprised to hear you say you've given up on finding a new woman to love. But that would not be the Eric Griffin I knew. The Eric Griffin I knew would never give up - it is in your nature to seek romantic attachments. I do not blame you for this - better romance than some of your other vices. Although, perhaps it is a close run between divorce and gambling to see which has cost you the most. I'm sorry, this is starting to sound like I'm trying to lecture you and this, I assure you, is not at all my aim. Jess wouldn't say whether you had formed any new attachments although she did mention a colleague of yours: Serena Campbell. Is that her name? I wasn't sure if I copied the name down right. My hearing is not what it once was and Jess speaks quite fast when on the phone. Ah, age: It dooms us all does it not? This Serena seems a pleasant woman - focussed and determined and from what I'm led to believe, won't take any nonsense from anyone. Have you asked her out? I would grab this opportunity by the bull's horns if you pardon the expression. Life is too short to be alone Eric and one day you'll wake up and there will be no more time left for the days of love and romance.

I've spoken to Percy recently. He and Kyla are still together - they're living in Ghana with her son. He seems contented but I couldn't help detecting a note of sorrow in his letter. He tells me you haven't spoken to him for quite some time as indeed it has been with me. Percy misses you Eric, he misses the friendship you once held for him and he for you. It surely could not hurt to write a letter - I've attached his address. You cannot afford to turn back on your friends Eric even when times change and old friends grow apart and fade away into every corner of this world. I know Percy made life difficult for you during his, experimental, tenures at Holby. And I know that it cannot have been easy for you to watch his back when he continued to flout the rules so carelessly. There is more to life and friendship than rules, however and it's time you remembered the past. Focus on what it is that you want Eric and the rest will fall into place. Please be careful. You are not a young man anymore.

I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive me if this letter has seemed out of place to your life and if I have caused you distress in any way. I mean every word I say and I hope you'll show me the courtesy by at least composing a short reply. Please write to Percy - his was a friendship that you should be doing everything you can to win back. I may not have always seen eye to eye with him but I knew that he was good for you and you for him. He doesn't expect much Eric, just a small note to tell him the way things are. You may ask why he doesn't just write to Holby - and I would not blame you for doing so. I don't know the full reason why - Percy would not tell me in his letter but the impression I got from him is that he expects you will not read a letter that came from him. You have grown too far apart from those who loved you Eric. I know you've tried to make amends with Jess and I want you to know that it is not too late for you to try with everybody else. I heard about the woman at Cambridge - I am sorry Eric, I truly am. But life is precious and it can be gone in the blink of an eye - don't waste the years you have left Eric, be the man I know you've always wanted to be. Gather your family, your friends: the old and the new. Show them that life is worth living and not just having.

Finally, I end this letter with a weight off my chest. I do not choose to presume what you may decide but for me, at least, the silence between us is now broken. Unsaid words have now been said and the ball is in your court. I do not blame you for what the years have brought us - it was as much my fault as it was yours. I have found a new life for myself and I am happy. But you will always be a big part of my life Eric - you always have been. Nothing seems quite whole without you to share it with. Our marriage didn't work but our friendship did or so I thought. I will wait for a response and if one is never to come than I shall wait all the same. I will not give up on the history between us. The friends we made together; they are not just friends - they are family. As my grandmother used to say: If you find a person that your heart cannot be whole without and whether they be friend or conquest, you will never truly be complete unless they are in your life. I perhaps never understood what she meant until now. Don't be a stranger, Eric.

With friendship,

Lola Hawkins


	3. Memories

I smile as they wheel me onto Keller Ward and watch the hustle and bustle of the nursing staff busying themselves around me. None of them seem to recognise me but that's no matter - it's been over ten years since I last graced the corridors of Holby City. I pretend to be asleep but out of the corner of my eye, I can see one of the senior nurses say something to their junior about organising a chest x-ray. My erratic breathing has obviously caused some degree of concern among the staff.

Look at them. They're all so young and inexperienced; I wouldn't be surprised to discover that they were all still in nappies when I reigned here. No, don't do that, I whisper under my breath as a junior doctor - Arthur - attempts to mess around with my drip. Is this the state of our juniors today? A boy who can barely tie his own shoelaces let alone treat a patient. Does nobody recognise me? The lack of recognition is cutting and it hits me that perhaps my reputation is not as secure as I might have hoped. Arthur begins to rattle some spiel about finding out the problem but I don't listen - I already know what the problem is and a good doctor should be able to figure out the symptoms without relying on the patient to tell them. Patients have a habit of lying. Arthur soon stalks away and I'm satisfied that he remains clueless.

I take this moment alone to catch my reflection in the mirror - it surprises me for a moment how wizened and grey my appearance must look to those around me. I'm not a young man anymore, that much is certain. Has it really been ten years since I last stood in this place? Ten years since my actions finally caught up with me…I remember the faces from the past. The betrayal etched in Ed's eyes, the look of contempt as Zubin fixed me with a scowl and the choice…the only choice I had left. Everything seems so different, the colour scheme is changed and I don't like it. I miss the style of the old; the smell of the wards and most of all I miss the desire to bend the rules to my satisfaction.

A nurse returns to my bedside and proceeds to engage me in some inane chatter about the weather. I don't give a damn whether it was raining yesterday or that it's uncharacteristically cold today but nevertheless I appreciate she's trying to make me feel comfortable and I humour her but only for a moment. I bury my cheek into the stiff pillow and the nurse soon gets the hint. I lift my head just a little to watch her depart. My mind quickly turns back to the memories of the past. I wonder what the great Ric Griffin would think if he could see me now. Is he even still here? The last I heard, he was but it's been a long time since I closely followed the politics of this place. I expect he would find some way of telling me it was all my fault. And the thing is - he wouldn't be that far from the truth. All my life, I've been obsessed by the desire to help people, to make them better and allow them to live their lives anew and yes sometimes I was motivated by a decision to benefit myself but my goals remained the same. Yet at the same time I have failed to take care of myself and the realisation dawns with each waking moment.

Something grabs my attention. A face is staring down at me, their eyes widening in surprise - have they perhaps recognised me at last? Am I not as forgotten as I had believed? The face clears in my vision - Ric is looking down on me and I can't recall a time when I've ever been more pleased to see him. It takes me a while to completely register the words that leave his mouth but I gather that he is greeting me - not like an old friend but an acquaintance that was best to leave in the mystery of the past. I mumble a reply and Ric starts to talk about my actions from all those years ago. Outside I smile and nod but inside I'm begging him to stop, to give me peace of mind from my mis - No I won't call them mistakes. I fully stand by my actions to this day and I would do it all again if I ever got the chance. I doubt I ever shall. Ric stops talking and I feel the coldness of his stethoscope on my chest; my heart beats fast and all I can think of is the changes I would make if I ever returned. Hiring staff older than the age of 12 would be a start.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Ric's voice boring into my soul. I know he's trying to help me but maybe I am beyond help? Is there really any future left for me outside these walls? Perhaps it is my destiny to die here, alone in the place that made and broke my name. I shake my head - there will be no such negative thoughts. Not here. Not today. I turn to stare at Ric and listen intently as he recommends a course of treatment for my symptoms. Ha. I can't help but laugh quietly as the unquestionable hilarity of my situation hits me. A heart surgeon with a dodgy ticker - that's always a good one. Maybe they could make an exhibition out of me…Ric, however does not seem to find it nearly so amusing and his eyes curl in the way they always did when he was displeased. He continues his diagnosis and fairly soon I can tell he'll move on to his recommended prognosis. I doubt it will be anything good. Ric was never known for his positive attitude.

I decide to take the upper hand and for the first time, I engage Ric with my own conversation. His reactions are at first unclear to me but as I keep digging my way into his past, I notice how his shoulders become tense and his expression haunting. I know I've gone too far when I bring up Leo - I remember reading about his death in the paper and I can appreciate that it wasn't wise to suggest Ric was responsible, I'm not letting that show of course. I can't help but laugh as Ric clenches and unclenches his fist. I was always the master of winding up my fellow colleagues and I want Ric to know that I have not changed. I will not change for anybody. It is no matter. Ric seems to be able to control his emotions and he steers our conversation out of these murky waters. It transpires that I am to be moved on to Darwin Ward at the next available bed - I'll be waiting all year then, I joke. The NHS humour is not lost on Ric and for the first time he actually cracks a brief smile. Darwin. As I form the words in my mind they fall easily on to my lips and roll off with the finesse of greeting an old friend. All the same, I am filled with a certain dread over what may have become of the ward I could once have called my home.

I mull over the next bit of information he imparts to me: the name of Darwin's consultant. Jacqueline Naylor. Ric can barely conceal his lack of enthusiasm for the name but I get the sense that he respects her for her skills, if not for who she is as a person. I recognise the name although I have never had the pleasure of working with her - everything I've heard makes her seem like someone I could get along with. Or maybe that's just me trying to justify my own choices. Perhaps I'll never truly understand. What do I know? I'm just a sad old man now, alone on a hospital bed surrounded by no one but the memories I hold inside my heart. Memories I construct to suit my own purposes just as I constructed my career to suit the goals I aimed for. I wonder what will lie in wait for me on Darwin Ward. Will even this Jac Naylor be able to show me a new direction for my life? I try to laugh but it comes out as more of a helpless whimper.

Ric leaves me to rest, peacefully, and with the knowledge that although we may never be friends, we at least understand one another and appreciate the motivations that led us to this moment. I lie back on my pillow and stare at the unrelenting dullness of the ceiling above. My heart tells me it was a mistake to come back here - to return to this place but my head says otherwise. And I am not one to dwell on the advice of my heart. Whoever I may be tomorrow, right now I am still Tom Campbell-Gore and I will follow my head wherever it may lead me.


	4. A Crime She Didn't Commit

Connie Beauchamp stared at the bare concrete walls of her cell and at the locked metal door, the viewing flap shut tight. Her teeth were chattering but all Connie could do was lie on the lumpy mattress and huddle her body into a ball. There were thoughts whizzing through Connie's mind; she couldn't think how she had got here and it seemed as if there was some kind of block on what had happened the previous night. Connie looked down at her trembling hands and noticed the dull residue of dried blood but there wasn't a scratch on her. It wasn't her blood but then whose?

The cell door opened and a large gruff-looking woman entered, the cell keys swinging beside her waist; she eyed Connie with a gaze of pure contempt and then proceeded to beckon her towards the still open door. Connie watched her with apprehension.

"Get a flamin' move on will yer?" The gruff woman was in no mood to dawdle and when Connie stayed beside the bed, she marched over and forcibly grabbed the shaking surgeon; her fingernails dug into the gaps between her shoulder blades. "I don't have the time for yer to mess me about." Connie swayed groggily and rubbed her eyes. Particles of blood fell into her eyes and they began to sting but there was no use mentioning it.

"Wait!" Connie didn't know why she called out, all she knew was that she had to say something. Obviously there must have been some kind of mistake and if she just explained it would all be sorted. That was the idea, Connie thought as she drew herself up to her full height but still below the impressive height boasted by the gruff woman. The gruff woman scowled.

"Yer forget yer place missy," and she spat gracelessly at Connie's feet. Connie scraped her shoe along the floor to wipe away the foam. "Yer just do as yer told and yer'll get no trouble, got it?" Connie cleared her throat.

"I may be nothing to you," Connie paused and looked deep into the gruff woman's cold grey eyes. "But I am still a surgeon and you will address me as Mrs. Beauchamp. Do you understand me?" Connie's moment of defiance was met with a simple response. The gruff woman raised her hand and struck Connie hard across the face; the surgeon stumbled and almost fell.

"In here yer just missy. Get in there," the gruff woman grabbed Connie and threw her into the dingy interview room where a thin man with horn-rimmed glasses stood like a silhouette among the shadows. Connie checked behind to see if the gruff woman was still watching her but to her immense relief, the beast was gone. She watched the thin man but he made no movements and seemed to be ignoring her. She took a step towards him.

"Please be seated," the voice that floated through the air was unlike anything Connie had expected. It was soft and yet it had an undertone of menace that chilled her insides. She stayed standing. "Take a seat." Connie registered that it was no longer a polite request and duly sat down at the table. The thin man remained in the corner of the room with his back to her. "Press record." Connie reached over to the tape deck and pressed record gingerly. "Thank you." She stared at him but quickly looked away as he turned to face her; his horn-rimmed glasses carefully balanced on the very tip of his nose and his lined features complimented by small black eyes and a mop of untidy grey hair. Yet he could not have been any more than forty at most.

"I need-"

"My name is Detective Chief Inspector Alan Richmond," Richmond cut across her. "And you are Mrs. Connie Beauchamp." Connie nodded; evidently she was not required to speak at this point. "I had the rather dubious pleasure of meeting Michael Beauchamp recently." Connie frowned; that was a name she hadn't expected to hear again. "Tell me how is Michael these days?" Connie didn't answer. Richmond stepped out of the shadows and leaned towards her. "I asked you a question," he said in a dangerously quiet whisper. Connie gulped.

"I don't know, I haven't spoken to Michael in years." Richmond let out a contemptuous cold laugh. There was a click and Connie heard her voice fill the room.

"What is the meaning of this Michael?" There was a pause and then the unmistakeable sound of her former husband's voice answered.

"I needed to see you Connie." Connie tried to make out the background noise; it sounded as if they were standing on a flyover as cars drove on to their destinations.

"I've said all I have to say to you," Connie brushed Michael aside and her footsteps echoed on the stone pavement. Michael ran to catch up with her.

"Listen Connie you don't understand! I'm in trouble, big trouble." Connie stopped.

"You are trouble." Michael started to retort but Connie spoke over him. "I don't have time for this today Michael, I have to get going. Some of us still have a career."

"I always knew you were a heartless bitch." There was a click and the recording finished; Richmond glared at her in the gloom and Connie's heart sank.

"I think we get the picture."

"I forgot," Connie muttered.

"Quite a big thing to forget don't you think?" Connie shook her head. "That was taken three days ago." Connie narrowed her eyes.

"What does that have to do with today?" Richmond laughed again.

"Everything Mrs. Beauchamp. It has everything to do with today." He was right in front of her now, leaning across the table so that his eyes met hers and Connie could feel his rasping breath as he spoke.

"What am I doing here?" Connie tried to make her question seem innocent but Richmond slammed his fist on to the table. Connie jumped.

"They always ask that," Richmond spat. "There's always some kind of an excuse, a plea of innocence." He cleared his throat and his voice took on a whiny quality. "It wasn't me, it wasn't me, they say. I weren't there honest mister. It makes me sick."

"I am telling you the truth," replied Connie, daring to push him as far as she could. "I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing here." For a moment it looked as if Richmond might believe her.

"What's the last thing you remember?" His voice was quiet and understated again but his lips were white and the fury had not quite died from his eyes. Connie took a deep breath.

"I remember leaving the hospital after my shift and then I…and then I…" Connie paused as she stumbled over her words.

"Slow down," said Richmond. "Keep it steady. I'm listening."

"And then I woke up in a cell." Connie sat back and waited for Richmond's answer.

"And that's all you remember?" Connie nodded. Richmond leaned towards her again and opened his mouth to reveal crooked teeth yellowed by nicotine. "Do you want to know what I think?" Connie shook her head. "I think you're a bloody liar and I'm going to get the truth out of you if it's the last thing I do." Connie's hands were trembling and then she felt her whole body begin to shake as Richmond continued to stare at her, his eyes unblinking and focussed.

"I'm not lying," Connie knew there was nothing she could do to convince him but she had to try. "I woke up and there was dried blood on my hands but I honestly don't know how it got there."

"Think." That was all Richmond had to say to her as he watched Connie squirm.

"It's all a blur!"

"Think!"

"I'm trying!"

"Think!" Back and forth it went but it was no use; no matter how hard Connie tried she couldn't explain. Richmond scratched his long nails along the table; Connie held her hands to her ears to block out the excruciating screech. "I'm asking you for the last time Mrs. Beauchamp. What happened?" Connie didn't reply. Richmond smiled at her but somehow this only served to make Connie feel even worse; his smile was like a clown in a child's nightmare. The silence between them unnerved her and he just stood there smiling. "WHAT HAPPENED!" Richmond's question echoed like a thunderbolt across the room but Connie was ready.

"I CAN'T REMEMBER!" There was a beat and it looked as if Richmond was mildly impressed by her defiance but whatever he felt, it was short-lived as he leaned over to glare at her.

"Connie Beauchamp, I am charging you with the murder of Michael Beauchamp." Richmond continued to speak but Connie heard none of it. Her entire world had just gone numb and Richmond's words seemed to echo around in her head. Michael. Murder. It couldn't be true, could it? Connie's heart thumped in her chest as she stood up and was led back to her cell.


	5. Sometimes Love Isn't Enough

I will never forget the look on his face as he walked away from me for the last time. He gazed into my eyes with such disappointment that I think my heart must have broken on the spot. After everything we went through, everything we did and everything we saw together…I didn't realise it then but I know it now: There can be no future for us. There are no happy endings; this isn't a Disney fairy tale where the girl gets what she desires and the mistakes of the past are laid to rest. This is real life and life is shit.

I suppose I should tell you a little bit about him? I'm not one for overdoing the sentiment but I will say this: Joseph was the most amazing man I ever met. Yet I didn't appreciate him when I had the chance; we got together and everything was lovely…No it was more than lovely, it was everything I ever wanted. And yet there is nothing that I can't mess up when I put my mind to it. Nothing that I can't manage to throw away. You know one thing though? It's good to finally tell this to someone who won't judge me for my mistakes. I know what I did was wrong and I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it every day since.

The funny thing is: I actually got a second chance. Not everybody gets one of those and I certainly never deserved it. It didn't happen straight away; if only life could be so simple. It took Joseph a long time to forgive me and then he had his own messes to deal with. You see Joseph wasn't perfect, far from it. He was insecure, easily angered and I don't think anyone really knew what was going on inside his head sometimes. I certainly didn't but I will say this: I think out of everyone, I was the one who could truly say they knew the real Joseph. I'm sorry, I said I wouldn't overdo the sentiment…The things people say about me. If they could see me now, they might just wonder what happened. Let's just say: I'm not renowned for my affinity with human emotion. Anyway, I suppose I'd better get on with it.

For a long time it seemed as if the great love story of Jac Naylor and Joseph Byrne had come to an abrupt but somehow fulfilling conclusion in January 2011. Looking back, I wonder what I would have said if I had known that that wasn't the end of our story but merely the end of the second act. Joseph left to become a poxy GP in some godforsaken area; I couldn't fault his reasonings, however and I knew he wanted me to come with him. But I couldn't. My place was at Holby and I wasn't just going to throw everything away to please a man, no matter who he was or how much I loved him. So we said our goodbyes and that was the last I heard of him for a long time. There was a brief moment, a couple of years later, where he tried to get in touch with me but I don't want to get in to that now. Perhaps I'll come to view that as just another of my mistakes but perhaps not. I don't even know why I did it but I suppose if I had to give a reason, I would say this: I'd already had to endure the sight of Joseph with a woman who wasn't me and I don't think I could do it all over again.

So what about the third act of the tale? The final part of a story that span the best part of twenty years. I should have told you the truth and it wasn't fair that I laid it all on you without even explaining what I…You do understand why? You were still so young and you had enough of your own problems to contend with, I didn't want to burden you. I wish I could turn back the clocks and goes back to the start. I wish I could change the mistakes of the past but I can't. I can't take back what I did and I can't change what I said. You remember how he was when he came back. I won't say that I was overjoyed to see him but if you truly love someone, those feelings…They never go away. It was quite a shock of course - I mean, I'd seen Joseph cry before but this was something different. Those silent tears rolling down his cheeks as he stared at me from the bottom of the stairs and all I wanted to do, was to run down those stairs and embrace him. But I didn't. I chose to argue instead because that's what I'm good at. I excel at creating conflict - I suppose it's just part of who I am, a way of shielding myself from the world.

I'm sure it's pretty obvious why he came back; a second marriage in tatters and he returns to something familiar. To me. I should have realised then that it wasn't going to last. We may have been made for each other but I realise the truth now: We were incompatible. Our lives were always intwined but nothing more. Sooner or later something had to give and there would be no going back this time.

For a while it seemed that just maybe, something had finally fallen into place in my life. We were a proper family and for a time we were happy. The happiest I think I've ever been. The happiest I could deserve to be. Just Joseph, Harry, you and I. But a simple fact of life is that good things don't last. It's like taking a book out from a library; you've only got the good things for a short time and the trick is to make the best of them with the time you've got. I didn't know that then of course; so as the years went by without a sign of anything going wrong, I became complacent and I felt as if our relationship was invincible. All I had to do was look at you and I think I would have seen the truth before it was too late. But I didn't.

Now you could say that it was no big deal. After all, so many couples just fall apart no matter what the history between them is. But not Joseph and I. To just fall apart would have been preferable to what actually occurred. It started with a few small arguments here and there, but they weren't just the usual disagreements that every couple have. I knew these were different but I didn't want to see…I didn't want to admit it to myself. Before long these small arguments grew into larger arguments and then they became fights - fights that neither of us could win. I wish I could tell you why but I don't know. Perhaps the past is not so easily forgiven.

We both tried to live with the fights for as long as we could but when they became physical - that is when I struck him, we knew that there was no more fighting to be done. We had reached a point of no return and Joseph did the only thing he could do. He packed his things and got a train to London that same evening. As he stood on the doorstep outside our house, I can still see the expression on his face and the fresh bruise where I had hit him. We spoke for a while; it was calm and considered. We told each other that we just needed time to sort out our heads but we both knew it had gone too far. Our relationship had become self-destructive and I knew that it wasn't just us who were hurting - There was Harry to think of and you. You may not remember, but you were standing behind me when I…when I hit him. I think that was what sealed it for us. It was a mess but we could manage it when it was just between us - as soon as our kids were involved, it had to stop.

Now that I look back on it, I know he wasn't disappointed in me. It's taken me a long time to come to terms with it but now that I sit down and talk about it, I think I finally understand what was going through his head when he left that night. He wasn't disappointed in me and he wasn't disappointed that we had tried. He was disappointed that we failed and I think a part of us will always love the other. I've never seen him again after that. I suppose it would be fitting to call that our curtain call; there were no tears, not this time, just a final and absolute understanding.


End file.
